


Just Let Me Sleep

by iwill_rocc_you



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Dubious Consent, I don't know what I'm doing, Kissing, M/M, aggressive undressing, but not really, fed-up Jim, freeform with a little plot, handjobs, it started as something but became PWP, jim just wants to sleep you guys, oblivious Oswald, tired as fuck Jim, uncomfortable Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2535392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwill_rocc_you/pseuds/iwill_rocc_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gets a second to himself. Oswald wants to help his only friend. Things take a strange turn and escalate from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Let Me Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> A playlist to accompany this:  
> http://8tracks.com/cobblepots/you-re-so-stupid
> 
> I am unfortunately guilty of making this playlist, and the cover picture. ^^' Please enjoy!

“He’s my friend, mother.” Smiled Oswald in the soapy water, his bath nearly the pearly white hue of his skin. His lips pulled into a thin line with pleasure at the thought. 

His mother looked at him with doubt- who would dare tell him no one has friends in Gotham?  
\---

Jim Gordon stood as a medium height man in a cloud of policemen, looking no more special than any of the other detectives and officers working hard to punch in the hours, cuffing and booking criminals left and right like a well-oiled machine. He had a tell-tale frown on his face, as was his basic expression as of late, staring hard into the files scattered around his desk like un-celebratory confetti. His mind was always moving for the next clue, the next big break, and racing towards catching and putting away another threat on the streets. 

It was heroic of him, really. Heroic, stupid, a little fool-hardy, maybe. But who could blame him for playing his part? For becoming that shining white knight in the darkness that fought the evil in Gotham like a putrid teargas? It seemed to him that he was the only one hell-bent on actually doing good in the building that stood for everything good he ever believe in. Justice, fairness… though he was beginning to see that nothing in Gotham is actually ever truly good. 

“You know your face can get stuck like that,” Harvey said around the rim of a cheap vender coffee cup, looking at Jim with slightly narrowed eyes, sizing his partner up. 

“I wish it would, then maybe people would just leave me the hell alone.” 

“Wow, you’re pretty snippy today, Jim.” Harvey had that way of laughing without actually laughing, a crinkle around his eyes was the only indication Jim had to knowing that Harvey was only being half-serious. 

“I haven’t slept well in a couple of days.” Jim said in response, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face heavily. “It seems the second we close a case, I blink and there’s three more files on the desk. I’m exhausted.” 

“That’s Gotham for you.” Harvey said simply, taking a brief sip of the brown liquid sitting in the cup. He put it down on his desk, scanning his own files, only half interested. 

Jim glanced at him, a little exasperated, but at least Harvey’s comments didn’t bother him like they did in the beginning. After these couple of months, working these few cases with the man he could see that he was a little unorthodox, a little beaten down by Gotham’s oppressive, wicked nature… but Jim wasn’t entirely sure if Harvey himself was completely overtaken by Gotham’s dark wave of crime. Jim could even say he admired him a little- but he’d rather bite off his own thumb than admit that out-loud. 

“How about you take the rest of the day off, Jim.” Harvey said then, “There’s nothin’ going on here that requires you plant your ass in that seat.” He kicked his feet up on his desk and flared out a local newspaper nonchalantly, “I won’t miss ya.” 

Jim looked at Harvey with stern uncertainty, “Like you’ll get anything done.” He grumbled, but he wasn’t going to argue against having some time to take a well-earned nap for a couple of hours. Harvey might be a little unorthodox at times, but he knew what Jim needed. It was all the years before him, Jim guessed. The young detective had moved so fast up in the ranks that he hadn’t realized how tough this line of work could be- especially with the tedious procedures the G.C.P.D. liked to enforce. Jim was no stranger to hard work, but the back-to-back, eighteen-hour work days were beginning to wear him down. 

Jim grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and pulled his arms through. “You might as well take advantage of the fact I won’t be here and organize your desk a little, Harvey.” 

“There’s a method to my madness, Jim.” Said the older detective without lifting his eyes from the newspaper. 

“Well, your madness almost lost a file last week.” 

Harvey chuckled humorlessly, “You still mad about that? I apologized, didn’t I?” 

Jim glanced sharply at the other detective, not an inch of humor on his features as he looked at his partner. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your wife, Harvey.”

“Quit acting like my wife, Jim, and maybe we won’t have a problem.” 

Jim shook his head and looked at his desk to collect anything he forgot, “You’re insufferable.” 

“And you’re a Boy Scout.” Still Harvey didn’t lift his eyes from his newspaper, the banter between them so common he didn’t even bat an eye at Jim’s comments. “See? Everyone has traits no one likes. You should write them all down and show me so I can tell you to fuck off. Maybe that can be your homework for the week- Lord knows you always did your homework, I think I would be more surprised if you told me that you didn’t like homework.”

“I didn’t.” 

Harvey finally lifted his face from his paper, mock surprise on his features, “James Gordon! Your first lie; someone write it down, I’m petrified with surprise. Now get out of here before I change my mind about covering for you.” His face went down to look at his paper again and Jim had his lips pursed in playful reprimanding before he shook his head slightly and was out the door into the chilly, dreary Gotham streets. 

Towering gray buildings were the main views from the cracked concrete, dotted with years of discarded gum, the occasional litter, and basic street filth that came with a large, industrial-infused big city. There wasn’t a corner that Jim couldn’t glance and witness the sight of a homeless beggar, psychotic outcast, or twitching junkie- there was a part of him that wanted to help them, but there just wasn’t enough time to save every soul, and the soul would want to be saved in the first place. Jim knew from experience that many of the homeless that lined the streets were there by choice, years of living hand-to-mouth caused them to rot away mentally, lose their skills and become incompetent to work behind a counter. 

The streets of Gotham had a way of turning even the most docile individual to a full-on hate machine. And one man wasn’t enough to change anything. 

Jim had only been living briefly in Gotham, but learned its nature quick. It was an animal so used to its cage that it attacked anything, or anyone that came too close. And Gotham didn’t want to be cured. Its sickness had seeped into the buildings, into the concrete, absorbed through green bills and dollar signs on bank windows- the smiling faces of Gotham’s elite standing at the top of the cage and keeping the lid tightly glued shut. Jim could see its sickness, but it seemed no one was willing to accept its foul ways and try to change it with him. 

Jim was used to standing alone, and it seemed that was the way it would be if he was going to tackle Gotham and try to eradicate its bosses. It was suicide, but who was Jim to stand by Gotham and let people die without an ally?  
\---

 

Home. A simple concept. Explained over centuries in motifs, symbols, expressions- home is not just a place, but a necessity of human nature that has been explored and adored, revered and respected for its power. 

Gotham was home. There was no other place in the entire world, the entire universe that Oswald Cobblepot could thrive in. It was a cesspool of swimming fish of various sizes, wiggling in the muddy water blindly, trying to survive with poisoned gills- but fish were the main food for penguins, weren’t they? On the food chain, the expressive triangle of hierarchy and power, Oswald Cobblepot was a predator, and all the rest were his prey. 

He was raised on these streets, amongst the fish, hiding his flippers with sickly, pale scales and bubbling with the rest of the lowly minnows, instead of squawking, as he should. 

His arm ached from the cold, holding his umbrella over him as the rain came down, as it usually did. Oswald would have it no other way, seeing a sunny day in Gotham was like witnessing the sight of a unicorn, and it always made his stomach turn to see the city it a light that it should never be viewed. Thankfully a sunny day in Gotham was rare (thus the unicorn reference). 

People passed, Oswald hardly glancing at them through his darkly tinted glasses. He was searching the people that passed for something specific, tell-tale signs of the person he was interested in, huddled into their coats and hidden by their own umbrellas there was little Oswald could actually see- but he was determined, and knew the walk of the person by heart. 

He saw him then, passing past a darkened Gotham alley he had the sides of his jacket pulled up over his neck and high over his cheeks in an attempt to preserve some sense of dryness, and Oswald instantly noticed the dark circles under the young detective’s eyes, the frown on his face that showed just how very exhausted he was with the city. 

It was a shame to see his friend suffering, weighted down with all of his responsibility and duty, honor and code like heavy, exhaustingly weighted armor on his shoulders that did no good but slow him down and make him tired. Oswald wanted to be his squire, he wanted to relieve Jim of the armor and be the only one to help put it back on. The urge to be that for Jim was surprising for Oswald, who had a blackened heart from disappointment after disappointment, years of abuse from “friends” he surrounded himself with- the sudden thought that he wanted to help Jim struck him like a slap across the face, a sinking gut feeling of warm, molten lava that rolled in his stomach and made him nervous. 

If Oswald was a penguin, then what was Jim?  
\---

 

Barbara was out. Jim actually felt relieved when he opened the door and realized that he was alone, glad that he wouldn’t be bombarded with questions and concerns like she was beginning to make a habit. It wouldn’t be a minute that Jim would walk through the door and she would stand in front of him with her big blue eyes, pleading with him to unload everything onto her like he was some type of dump truck. 

He walked into the bedroom section of their apartment and began to undo his tie, pulling at the fabric and letting it hang loosely enough so that he could pull it over his head and toss it onto the dresser without glancing at the structure. He didn’t care if it actually made it or landed on the floor, the only important thing was the sight of his king-sized bed and the clean, cool sheets that were about to greet him. 

He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his shoes, the moment he felt the sinking mattress he could feel the long days begin to pull him down, making him sore and groggy.

The silence in the high-end apartment was comforting, there wasn’t the sound of a jammed copy machine, the constant rustle of paper, the noisy chatter of officers, or the screaming of the criminals held in the small cells that lined the wall of the station. Jim was finally alone, not staring down at Harvey in the desk across from him, not swimming in files or the prying eyes of the M.C.U. or the captain- and not confronted by Barbara to get him to spill every secret he had. It was quiet, and it was solitary. It was all Jim wanted. 

There was a knock on the door. 

Jim froze. He went through a moment of sinking disappointment, and then eventual acceptance. It was foolish of him to think that he would actually, finally, get a little break. He could almost laugh at how stupid he felt, thinking that he could get some goddamn sleep for once. 

Opening the door when he should be asleep was one thing, opening it to Oswald Cobblepot was another. 

“You,” hissed Jim with such rage that for a moment the large, friendly grin on Oswald’s face almost slipped. 

“H-Hello, James. I hope I’m not catching you at inconvenient-” 

The young, enraged, tired detective grabbed Oswald by the front of his pressed suit in a tight fist and dragged Oswald through the doorframe, slamming the door closed behind him with a force that made the nearby pictures on the wall tremble briefly. Oswald felt like those frames, delicate like glass he shuddered and trembled in Jim’s tightly closed fist. 

“I’m tired,” Jim gritted out through clenched teeth, “I get one fucking second to myself and you choose this second to come knocking on my door, looking smug as a goddamn house cat. You know what, Cobblepot? Sit down.” He tossed Oswald towards a seat, letting him fall ungracefully into a lounge chair as he continued the process of undressing. With practiced fingers Jim was unbuttoning his white dress shirt, half turned away from Oswald as he tugged the cloth free. 

Oswald could have been embarrassed, a little color coming to his cheeks as he was witness to Jim Gordon taking off his shirt with is strong hands and practiced precision, exposing the white wife-beater underneath and his toned, muscular arms, (maintained to capture criminals, no doubt). Where the thought of looking down and seeing Jim’s fingers undoing his own buttons (pants or otherwise) came from, Oswald had absolutely no idea. Though Oswald was fully aware of the blood rushing through his anatomy, swelling in a specific location that caused him to cross his legs subtly. 

“One fucking second to myself,” Jim said with a humorless chuckle, the dark circles under his eyes even more evident now in the dim light of his apartment. “You know, I thought maybe I could do some good. When I got the job I was sure that I could make change happen- what a goddamn joke. Now I got a wanted criminal sitting in my living room, not even wanted- dead criminal, because I was instructed to shoot you, you remember that?” Jim didn’t wait for a response, “Of course you do, and so do I. I also remember telling you to get the hell out of Gotham, but obviously that didn’t work so my life is basically not even legitimate right now. It doesn’t even seem real, like this is someone else’s crazy, twisted life and I’m just… a goddamn victim in it.” He tugged his shirt off and tossed it on the seat next to Oswald violently, causing the man to jump at the sudden movement. “What the hell do you want from me, Cobblepot? Huh? You want to see me ruined? Or maybe you want to see me dead?” 

“N-No! Of course not! That’s pre-preposterous!” Oswald was confused. He was expecting maybe a little aggression, but he wasn’t expecting being dragged into Jim’s apartment, being thrown into a chair, and watching the man undress. He also wasn’t expecting his traitorous body to react so strongly to watching Jim just take off his shirt. He felt like a teenager again, thrown into the high school locker room with the power of invisibility, ogling without a choice- his eyes glued to the lithe form in front of him. Oswald could imagine him as the MVP of the high school football team, the quarterback, the star- and Oswald was that outcast in the back of the class picture, hiding behind everyone else. Oswald was the water boy who everyone stepped on and looked down on, and Jim was the upperclassman that smiled at him and patted him on the back, and genuinely thanked him for his help, for being a part of the team. Jim made Oswald feel valuable again. He saved his life, he literally gave him the second chance to pull himself up from the dirt. Oswald owed Jim everything. 

Jim might have seen that on his face, betrayed by being caught off guard by Jim’s strange behavior, and Oswald had been so glued to his eyes that he hadn’t noticed that Jim’s fingers had moved to his belt. 

“What are you doing here, Cobblepot?” The aggression was gone from his voice, there was the undertone of soft curiosity in his voice, and the overbearing sound of Jim being completely drained. 

“Where’s Barbara?” was Oswald’s response, his voice weak as his eyes finally moved down to watch Jim’s hands once more. Jim seemed to notice the trail of the younger man’s ice blue eyes, and followed it to his hands, stilled at the buckle. 

It was a strange moment, pivotal, because Jim became aware of the other man in the room- clarity coming to him in his exhausted state, once the anger left him an empty shell. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here. Cobblepot?” Repeated Jim, with every emphasis on each word he moved his belt a little more, until finally he held it in his hands, and tossed it right next to his shirt, making Oswald jump again. 

“I want… to help…” was the young man’s weak response, trembling softly in the chair, legs crossed tightly- and Jim felt a cruel smirk pull at his lips. 

“Oh, yea?” He asked, walking towards the seated man. “You want to help?” With every step closer Oswald pressed his back harder against the back of the lounge chair, eyes wide as Jim approached him. “Why are you looking at me like that, Oswald?” At the sound of his first name from Jim’s mouth the young man shuddered involuntarily. He braced himself on the arms of the chair and leaned closer to the young man, and Oswald swallowed thickly as he drew near. “I’m a detective. It’s my job to read people. To weed out what they’re thinking- and to get the truth out of them. And you know what? I don’t think you want to help me.”

“I-I do!” Insisted Oswald, suddenly earnest as he looked at Jim. His heart was pounding, and his palms were sweating, but he couldn’t deny himself anymore. “J-James… Let me help you…” his hands were shaking, and he clenched his fingers for a moment before releasing them again as he reached for the waistband of Jim’s pants. “Y-You’re tired… let me help you…” 

Jim didn’t move away from Oswald’s seeking hands, his eyes not leaving the younger man’s face as he tried to determine if he was being legitimate or not. 

He was so fucking tired. 

“Fuck it,” Jim whispered, leaning forward and catching Oswald’s lips in his, catching the preoccupied man off guard. He lifted his hands and cupped the pale man’s face, holding it against his as he continued to kiss him, harshly at first, then, as time progressed, softer. 

Which seemed to be his entire mood now. 

“J-James,” Oswald mumbled against the warm, chapped flesh that was pressed against him, beginning to taste the detective on his tongue. 

“Shut up,” gritted out the detective. “For once,” he hissed, “Just, let me have this.” 

Oswald obliged. 

Jim kicked off his pants as the timid man found his confidence and pulled them down, exposing the detective in his light blue boxers. Oswald could see that he wasn’t the only one with an aching problem, and he was actually relieved. The quarterback was kissing the water boy- the quarterback wanted the water boy. 

“Come here,” Jim growled, grabbing Oswald roughly by his suit jacket and pulling him up, walking him backwards to the bedroom and throwing him down onto the mattress. 

“You keep throwing me places, James,” complained Oswald, though it was completely forgotten as Jim crawled over him. 

“You keep showing up at my apartment uninvited, Oswald,” Jim kissed him again, causing the smaller man to clench his hands in the thin fabric of the detective’s wife-beater, “I think I have a little right to throw your rude ass around a little bit.” 

“I never meant to be rude, James! That was the opposite of my intention-!” Oswald stopped mi-sentence as James started to pull at the fabric that separated them.

“You talk so much, goddamit.” Jim drew close to Oswald, looming over him, eyes looking over his features with a dark humor. “Don’t make me stuff something in your mouth to keep you from talking.” Before Oswald knew it, his suit jacket was off, and he was left in his vest and dress shirt. He was aching terrible, throbbing, and he was slightly taken aback by how much he wanted Jim. 

Jim was smiling. There was a lightness to him Oswald hadn’t see before as he pressed another kiss to his lips, and Oswald distantly wondered if this was what he did with Barbara, the woman he loved, and right in this bed. Did he kiss her just as softly, just as sincerely? Oswald doubted there wasn’t a part of Jim that wasn’t absolutely sincere. 

Oswald has lied in his life, lied, cheated, cajoled his way through life- Jim stood as his own hero, and Oswald admired that oh so much.

“James…” his voice was a whisper, and Jim shuddered at the feeling of the young man’s hot breath against his lips. 

The kiss they shared was deep, and Jim was leading the charge, pouring into Oswald all of his frustrations and worries- the reason for his problems was beneath him, becoming undressed beneath him. Jim was never one to run away from his problems, though this was the first time he was going to literally fuck it. 

Oswald could hardly believe that it was really happening, he nearly had to be pinched (in the present case, a bite to his bottom lip), that made him realize that he was truly kissing Jim Gordon, the only honest man in Gotham. And then realize that Jim’s hand was at the front of his trousers, and that the sound he was hearing was actually himself, moaning unintelligibly as he felt Jim’s strong hand massage the ache in his cock. He was clutching at Jim, digging his fingers into the older man’s shoulders as his hips moved against the rub of Jim’s sure fingers, his neck craning as he leaned his head back against the soft surface of Jim’s sheets. 

There was that smirk again, light against Jim’s features Oswald felt his heart pound at the sight of it. “James,” Oswald whined, “Please,” 

Jim didn’t say anything, only obliged the soft pleading of the younger man, knowing exactly what he needed. Jim unbuttoned Oswald’s pants and took the aching organ in his skilled hands, causing Oswald to let out a loud groan, and causing Jim’s smirk to widen further. 

At first his hand was slow, teasing the tender flesh with sure, secure movements- but eventually Jim got bored of that. His pace quickened, and Oswald inhaled sharply at the increase in speed, letting out a strangled cry as Jim moved his warm hand to the young man’s sharp completion. As Oswald came onto his exposed, pale stomach he dug his fingertips harshly into Jim’s shoulders, pulling the detective down harshly to kiss him as Jim gently guided him through his aftershocks. 

“H-How…” breathed Oswald, and again it was as if Jim knew exactly what he meant. 

“I was in the army, Cobblepot.”

That was all the explanation he needed. 

His cheeks were pink as he looked up at Jim through dark lashes, “I was supposed to help you…” he said, almost guilty as he looked up at the detective with ice blue eyes. 

“You will.” 

But Oswald didn’t understand as Jim grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and mopped Oswald’s stomach, his expression unchanging, as if he was cleaning up spilt milk. He threw away the tissues casually before pulled down the sheets from under Oswald and climbed under them, guiding Oswald under the covers with a soft, content sigh. 

He settled next to him and wrapped an arm around Oswald, drawing the smaller man to him and holding him against him as he laid himself down heavily beside him.

“James?”

He had his eyes closed, “Jesus, just let me sleep.” 

“O-okay…” 

Jim smiled, placed a quick kiss to Oswald’s neck, and finally felt himself at ease. 

Jim never backed away from a threat. Cobblepot was no longer an enemy, but maybe a friend.  
\---

 

If Oswald Cobblepot was a penguin, then James Gordon was a killer whale.


End file.
